Trip Report Day 3 - Tonopah to Ely

Last night I went outside to walk and check on (stare at) the bike. It seemed to run a bit rough yesterday so I started it. The idle was rough and it sputtered and died. Oh no! A lemon! I went inside and logged onto chromeheads.org, a website dedicated to the R1200C.

Searching the forum, I discovered that excess oil gets pulled into the airbox where it is burned in the engine. But some oil can collect inside and needs to be drained. Fortunately, the fine folks at BMW put an airbox drain plug on the side, so using 'borrowed' hotel towels I sat beneath the Ramada sign and drained out the oil. Sure enough, there was oil in there. I replaced the plug, fired up the bike and it purred like a kitty.

Today is the short ride day - about 170 miles. Luckily I had found a small gas can at Scolari's grocery store in Tonopah and had brought extra bungee cables to attach things to my luggage. I gassed up, filling the small can as well, and headed out on Hwy 6.

I had been a little paranoid about running out of gas on this stretch. 170 miles is no big deal in a car that has an 18 gallon gas tank, but for motorcycles - where your tank may be 4-6 gallons - you have to fill up more frequently. The R12ooC has a 4.6 gallon tank including the reserve, and reports on the internet have gas mileage experiences ranging from 35-50 MPG. Since I have no previous experience with this particular bike, my conservative estimate showed the bike might do just a little over 160 miles. It's not like running out of gas in the city where there is a gas station within walking distance anywhere. There is literally nothing between Tonopah and Ely.

I rode about 70 miles - riding at 65 MPH to conserve gas - and decided to pull over for water, a Clif bar and to empty the gas can into the tank. I released the pressure and poured it in, only spilling a little.

Knowing I had a good reserve of fuel, I opened up the bike a bit more and really fell into a groove. With earplugs, leg extension rests, the throttle lock engaged - I sat back and fell into a state of bliss. I was so relaxed and comfortable. This is why I am riding home. The road was pretty much one long, straight shot. Periodically I would pass cows that would look up from eating sand and watch me ride past. Instinctively I honked at them and always remained surprised that my honking didn't upset them.

The last 20 miles or so before Ely, the road turned into one big, slow slalom which climbed up to a pass and eased down into the town. For 20 minutes I danced with the bike. Motorcycle riders know what I mean. The rhythm of moving left and right was outstanding. It has been one of the highlights of the ride, as it was a moment to really experience the superb balance and handling of my bike.

I pulled into Ely and stopped for gas and a quick lunch in the shade of a tree. It was only about 1:00. I had read about a number of historic charcoal ovens leftover from the mining days, and the state park created around them was only about 15 minutes south of town. I jumped back on the bike and set off. The road off the highway that leads to the park was rough, rutted gravel. Hmmm. 10 miles each way. What the hell. I set off down the road and almost immediately decided it sucked. I rode about 3 miles in and determined I had had enough. It would be my luck to hit a patch of 8" deep gravel and dump the bike in the middle of nowhere, which is already in the middle of nowhere. Call me a baby if you like, but I'm a baby with my motorcycle still in tact.

Back in town, I checked into the Bristecone Motel - a charming place on the east side of town. The room is nice, comfy and Sparkling Clean. I unloaded and rode into town to see what I was missing. Not much. I stopped into the 'famous' Hotel Nevada, now a biker-friendly western cliche. I hope I don't run out of money and get put in the hoosegow.


After exploring the town, I headed back to the Bristlecone to relax, take a shower and figure out where to eat dinner. Ely is much nicer than Tonopah but it still seems like a harsh place to live. Aside from Vegas (and I'm not so sure about it), it seems like Nevada is largely uninhabitable. But the desert has a specific kind of beauty which creates a very elemental, almost spiritual setting for this part of my ride.

Monkey Butt Update: I guess I should have known, but the monkey butt topic has pretty much been the focus of all of your commentary and interest. I'm happy to report that while I'm only very slightly saddle sore, I have no signs of MB. So stop asking.